


Shine

by superagentwolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Dad Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Especially Dad: 76, Everyone Loves D.Va, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: If Mercy is their angel, D.Va is their star. She is energetic and boisterous. Her name precedes her as a gamer and as a soldier, she is effective and determined. As a friend, Hana manages to land on the right side of some of the most difficult members of Overwatch.Sometimes, though, 76 is just concerned about her. After all, a shooting star is still falling, isn't it?





	Shine

It was strange, to see her walk through the halls. Sometimes, in passing, she left the scent of strawberry shampoo and laundry detergent.

This wasn’t the first time someone too young had been in the organization. It was just—

—she felt _too_ young.

* * *

“Comin’ through!” Tracer chirps happily. She races past, too fast—always too fast—and 76 has to lift his plate out of the way to save it from clattering to the floor.

D.Va’s yelp is what gets his attention.

She’s just in the doorway, her dark hair damp and a too-big shirt hanging from one shoulder. The young woman falters when Tracer speeds past her. Maybe their shoulders brush, because D.Va suddenly tilts dangerously and stumbles toward the floor. Her eyes are wide.

76 is across the room for some reason. He doesn’t take much time to think or plan; he just moves, and then he catches D.Va with one arm and feels her nearly-imperceptible weight fall into him.

“Oh.”

The word leaves her mouth and she blinks. 76 isn’t sure what to say, either. He’s pretty fucking certain there was no reason to be so cautious about a little stumble.

Doesn’t matter. His plate is on the floor, now. Someone will probably make fun of him for breaking it.

“You good?” It’s the one thing he can come up with. He grimaces, but it’s lost behind the visor and faceplate he wears.

D.Va smiles a little. She seems uncertain for half a second, and then the familiar personality rises to the surface. “I’m fine! Really, you didn’t have to. I was just caught...not on guard!”

Her stumble with English is probably endearing to most. 76 recognizes, however, that it is not cute. D.Va being unable to communicate properly or being in some way stilted is not endearing.

It is terrifying.

He should not think that.

76 has a healthy amount of concern for his teammates. Coworkers—

—whatever.

He has a healthy amount of concern and a bit more, he can admit, because the past cannot stay dead. 76 may have more experience in dealing with his demons and all, but that doesn’t mean he can just induce amnesia and cheerfully be on his way.

Anyway. The point is, 76 knows his range of care extends within mission boundaries. Sometimes, it bleeds into casual time at base. He has concern insofar as he doesn’t enjoy it when Zenyatta is sometimes just _there_ , in the middle of a room, because the omnic didn’t consider simply finding someone to talk to or going to meditate somewhere. He has concern when Jesse’s migraines have him wandering the halls like a video clip running on repeat, or when Tracer is so high-strung and sapped at the same time that she stares widely at a far wall.

76’s concern should not extend to the possibility of D.Va simply tripping, or stumbling.

“Really. I am sorry,” D.Va says. She carefully extricates herself from his loose grip and attempts a better smile. It would fool him, if he hadn’t already seen the slip of uncertainty, before. She’s good at the show.

That should not worry him so much, either.

“No problem,” 76 says. He can’t think of anything else to say.

* * *

Jesse absolutely adores D.Va.

Most of the team does. There are moments of clashing, where personality traits don’t quite fit—but for the most part, D.Va is a star. Where Angela is feared and revered in equal measure, D.Va becomes something precious to most of the team. Good-natured, cheerful and teasing, always ready to play.

Jesse and D.Va get along well, probably because Jesse loves how fiery D.Va can get. 76 would say he saw it coming, because he remembers just how stubborn and bullheaded Jesse could be. Can still be. D.Va is just the same, with her _nerf this_ and _I play to win_. 76 sometimes feels like he’s listening to a modern, Korean version of Jesse.

“Hey, now—take a moment,” Jesse says. He holds both his hands up and pats the air.

D.Va huffs. She blows a strand of hair out of her face. For all her posturing, though, she listens. She listens to Jesse and stays stock-still, gun pointed to the faraway target.

They’re silent for almost a full minute. 76 is just shocked that D.Va listened in the first place.

Finally, she speaks. “Well?”

“Aimin’ for the head is all well an’ good,” Jesse says. “Except you can’t do that every time. Especially not when yer hidin’ or runnin’ for yer life.”

“Can’t I?”

Jesse laughs. He leans against the wall and 76 sees a flash of Before. A whisper that reminds him things used to be—

—different. Not simpler, but different.

“Look—I know how good of a shot ya are. We ain’t here to talk about your high scores, or we’d be here all day.”

D.Va grins. Her eyes dance with some light 76 can’t place. He rarely sees it, but when he does, he wonders if maybe she is untouched. If some small hope remains.

“You are trying to make me let my guard down, cowboy? I won’t be stopped.”

“Perish the thought,” Jesse says. He moves to stand behind her right shoulder. 76 notices that Jesse stops short before touching her and is annoyed that he feels pleased by that. “Now, remember—there are a few places ta hit where it’ll sure keep ‘em off yer back and more occupied with stayin’ alive.”

D.Va knows this. Jesse should know, too. 76 is fairly certain that D.Va knows everything that Jesse is saying; she is a MEKA pilot and besides, 76 has seen her dart around a battlefield after ejecting like she could rearrange the bullets in midair if she wanted to. Damn near gives Genji and Tracer a run for their money.

So, why? 76 knows he shouldn’t linger in the doorway of an obviously private lesson, but something tugs at him. He stays.

Jesse is speaking again. “Don’t worry about ‘em after you get in the shot,” he says. “Yer job is ta make ‘em hurt so much they forget about you, and then one of us picks ‘em off.”

“Copy that, cowboy.”

“Good. Up fer round two?”

“I’ve got quarters for days,” D.Va crows.

They work well together. On the field, D.Va is best with support—someone to buff her armor or strengthen her when she takes one too many hits for the team. She might be the youngest, but she makes a good tank.

Here, in the safety of a shooting range, a nightmare scenario takes place. One that has happened only a handful of times; once, with 76 in her team. D.Va out of her MEKA is not good. It takes time and a good spot for her to recall her mech, and those things are scarce on a battlefield. While she’s out and vulnerable, D.Va has to rely on the pistol at her side.

The pistol, and her partners.

The game goes like this: D.Va takes the targets that come out, flying from every corner. She hits them where it hurts, like Jesse told her, and he takes the kill shots. They move fluidly. Even if D.Va’s pistol is fast, it has a cooldown period, and that cooldown means a window she could be shot in.

With Jesse at her side, though, there is someone to shore up the gap. 76 is impressed. Not just at how much D.Va’s aim has improved—because God, the first time she came back after having ejected, he saw the footage—but at how well she takes to being mentored. D.Va is a professional in her own right, and with a personality and reputation as big as hers, 76 would expect more stubbornness. More fight.

Maybe he just missed it. They’ve probably been in the room for a while, given the way D.Va’s hair is tousled and her shoes are in the corner.

The barrage ends and D.Va caps off the final target with a well-placed shot to the head. She cheers and assumes an odd pose, her gun still trained on the target and one fist in the air. Jesse just laughs and then—

—then, 76 watches Jesse drop his hat onto her head. It looks so big on her and she laughs, too. Her smile is bright and her fingers curl around the rim of the hat. She tilts her head up to Jesse—who is probably a head taller than her—shoves her pistol away without a second thought.

Jesse hugs D.Va and twirls her around like this is something they do. Like there is nothing more natural than the big cowboy giving his most prized accessory to the tiny newcomer, whose gamer personality and social media presence had made 76 think she’d be one of the worst fits on the team.

At one time, 76 had looked at D.Va and seen a spoiled child playing with an expensive mech and playing at war. He’s starting to see a soldier, now.

For some reason, he misses what he used to think of her.

“All right. I’m thinkin’ you earned a big ol’ breakfast burrito,” Jesse says. Peacekeeper slides out of sight and D.Va toes her shoes on messily. She perks up when he mentions breakfast.

“You are good for one thing, cowboy,” D.Va says brightly.

Jesse holds a hand to his chest, a false noise of pain escaping his mouth. “Ouch! I’m soft, darlin’. Have mercy on an old man.”

“You are not too old,” D.Va says. She shrugs and her smile softens a little. It’s an odd look on her. She should not look as if she knows something painful. As if she understands Jesse, with his war wounds and his loss and everything else. “But maybe you are good for more than one thing. Maybe two. Three, at most.”

Jesse laughs and pushes the hat down over her eyes as they turn to walk out. 76 slips into a natural stride and passes in the opposite direction as they go, D.Va animatedly going on about the tournament she had the previous night.

He tries not to look over his shoulder when they leave.

* * *

It’s a worst-case scenario. The team is badly injured and Mercy can only do so much to split her attention while avoiding the gunfire.

D.Va fell behind at some point. She managed to flank around a turret when they arrived—thanks to her boosters, of course—but 76 lost track of her in the middle of the fight. He thinks she’s probably huddled somewhere to buffer her abused mech.

At least, he thought so, until he hears the burst of familiar pulse cannons coming from _in front of them._

Genji’s face isn’t visible, but 76 has come to the point where he feels like he can actually tell what the cyborg is thinking. There is something tense in the way Genji holds himself. He and D.Va are closer than most, probably because they play video games too late at night. Too early in the morning. His posture says he is ready to throw himself out into the fray again, just to find her.

“Hold position,” 76 growls. He knows his words filter through the comm and he hopes D.Va still has hers. He doesn’t know how the hell she managed to flank the massive forces before them again, or if she’s in one piece. At least her mech seems functional.

The gunfire turns into missiles. That’s a fifty-fifty chance; either D.Va is doing her best to eliminate the bulk of the attackers, or she’s pinned and desperate. 76 calculates the timing of the missiles and glances at Genji.

“Move in five. Stick behind whatever you can. Find closer cover and wait for orders.”

Affirmations filter through the comms. 76 waits and then—

—then, he breaks. He runs from cover and catches a flash of Mercy’s grim expression; the way she hovers close to Tracer, whose left arm is injured. 76 doesn’t have time to look after anyone else. He rushes past a horde of fallen enemies and vaults over an abandoned crate to find another place to hide.

D.Va is there, suddenly, her boosters finishing a cycle as she rounds the corner. He can see even from the other side of the pink field before her that she’s sweaty and keyed-up. None of that energy goes anywhere it shouldn’t, though. Her eyes are sharp and she catches sight of her teammates.

“I managed to break their line,” D.Va says. Her comm is staticky. “Two turrets down, one on its last leg. Maybe two dozen targets. Half a dozen that are one shot away from being down for the count.”

76 has a lot to say. He wants to ask where the hell she’s been and what happened to her comm. Why she just now decided to burst forth. Instead, he opens his mouth and is abruptly silenced by her sudden yell.

“Incoming!”

It takes a second for her shield to go up. She’s fast to deflect the incoming bullets, but she’s in their line of sight. 76 takes a covered walkway to flank and sees Genji across from him, a flash of green.

Things rapidly become a mess. Again.

Well, he should amend that. They are a controlled mess. They might be crisscrossing the field, gunfire pinning them between few hiding spots, but they know their drills. No one breaks and no one does anything stupid. They communicate.

At least, they communicate until a bullet pings by D.Va’s cockpit and they hear her voice over the comm, a startled noise of pain that lasts half a second before she clamps down on it. It’s a testament to her training that it escapes at all, and it’s a testament to the others’ training that they catch it.

“Status,” 76 barks. Her mech hasn’t moved; it’s still half-hidden by a pillar, cannons trained on the enemy line a few feet away.

There’s a crackle over the comm. “Fully functional.”

It’s not her usual _fully operational_. He’s not sure whether the omission is by design, or if he is reading into it too much.

He’s fairly certain he’s not reading into it too much.

Genji’s voice is muffled in the background while 76 considers the field. He barely hears the Japanese that filters through the comm, but he does see the green glow from Genji’s sword.

It should be fine, but maybe their luck is just shit for the day because there’s a grunt of pain and 76 wishes things would just fucking go well, for once. Just once. Just today.

Genji rolls for cover, but he’s still in a bad spot. He’s exposed and 76 knows he was already operating at half-power, before. Whatever new injury Genji has, he’s probably not up to anything more. 76 knows this, Mercy knows this—everyone but D.Va must know.

Or maybe she does, too, because 76 catches the way the legs of her mech shift. Her voice crackles over the comm when she says, “Operational and ready to provide cover.”

76 feels it’s less of an offer and more of a warning. He growls in response because he can’t give a full lecture in the middle of the battlefield, but she’s right. It’s the only way to pull Genji out. 76 moves behind one of the legs of her mech when she starts to walk and he sees the blink of her defense matrix as she redirects most of the bullets headed their way.

Except 76 catches something in his periphery and he wheels between the legs of her mech because there’s a gun emerging from the empty doorway to his right. “Shit,” he curses. “Hold! Tracer—”

“Comin’ your way!”

They’re effectively pinned. D.Va can’t stay where she is for long; her cockpit is exposed and the defense matrix needs time to recharge. Genji is still out in the open and 76 can’t do a damn thing to move—

—and then he hears the metallic ping of bullets on the MEKA above him. The matrix is down.

She still manages to deflect some by sight alone. He reminds himself to praise her for it, later.

“Patched,” Genji says suddenly. His voice is strange and 76 doesn’t know what the hell is going on. “I will move to cover. Extract.”

“Move it,” 76 orders. D.Va covers their move backward and then they’re pushing again, the entire team somehow together. They have five feet to go. 76 can see it. The distance glows like an electronic ruler.

“Shield boost,” someone says. D.Va’s thanks is distant.

76 works just to keep them alive.

It’s a nightmare when he hears Genji’s voice, hidden in some building. “I need healing!”

“I’m too far!” Mercy cries. She is holding Tracer steady under a barrage. 76 is pinned in place and his biotic field can’t be thrown that far.

“On it!” D.Va yells. 76 watches her MEKA stomp in his direction.

He also watches the swarm that opposes her—a dozen hostiles—as they go in through the only other door to the same building.

Combat makes strange things happen. It feels like time bends a little—slow one moment, too fast the next. 76 shouts over the comm, a warning and information. D.Va barely gives an affirmative.

“Genji!” D.Va’s scream is not right. Something in it is very, very wrong. 76 watches her come through the doorway again, except this time, she is exposed. Her mech is gone.

D.Va is out in the open. She flings herself from the building and her tiny frame should not be able to heft Genji upright and out, but she does. Somehow, she does.

Time speeds up when the reddish glow of her MEKA cycling to self-destruct shines through the windows. 76 barks a command to hit the ground that’s probably unnecessary; they’re all trained to know when the MEKA is ready to blow.

His eyes never leave the forms of his two teammates as they skid onto the pavement.

The MEKA blows. It is a fantastic explosion and as soon as it ends, he yells to _go, go, go_. The mobile members of the team rush the building and find only two hostiles left. 76 has them sweep the area one last time and then, suddenly, they are done.

“Hana?” Genji’s voice is low. So low, it almost doesn’t carry over the comm. It does, though, and 76’s head immediately snaps back to the two teammates left in the street.

His first thought is that she’s hurt. That she’s unconscious. That any number of things have happened.

_Hana._ 76 realizes the difference a moment late, but he knows it. They all know each other’s names, of course, but D.Va has never directly told anyone. Not that 76 knows of, at least.

“Fully— _ah._ Mostly operational,” D.Va jokes. Her voice seems too bright. Like she’s shoving all the energy she can into it. The little stop and noise of pain does nothing to help her case.

“Do not move. I think you have done enough, for one day.” Genji sounds patient, but more than that, he sounds fond. Relieved.

“Oh, please. I eat hostiles for breakfast!” D.Va hisses in pain, then. “But I suppose it is almost dinner.”

* * *

“You what?”

“Show me,” she says. Her chin tilts upward. “I know I am not a perfect shot, out of my MEKA.”

“You don’t have to be,” 76 points out. “That is not your function.”

“Are you saying it is a waste of time?”

_No,_ he almost says, but he bites his tongue at the automatic response. Clever.

76 gives her a long look that she can’t see beyond his visor. He settles with, “There are more important things you could be doing.”

It’s not a refusal. She knows this. D.Va grins and says, “Nothing is more important than my life, and the lives of my teammates.”

He could say something about that. Maybe should. But D.Va’s hand is still half-bandaged from a recent firefight and he doesn’t.

Maybe he’s soft.

“Every morning. Zero six hundred.”

“Yes, sir!” The affirmation is cheery and bright.

He wonders if she used to address her superiors that way.

* * *

Hana is what he comes to call her. In private moments, the personality of D.Va fades and she becomes much more what she is—a young woman with bright eyes and sharp reflexes. A gamer that stays up too late and comes to the shooting range in oversized t-shirts and with her hair in a messy bun.

76 likes Hana.

She is a child to him, but he doesn’t mind the simplicity of her life. In fact, he enjoys it. Hana talks about StarCraft and Doritos. Her smile is genuine and she often walks as if she weighs nothing—as if she is about to float from the ground, or maybe dance.

“You’ve got it!” Jesse crows. 76 is irked by his sudden appearance, but Hana beams when she looks over her shoulder and it’s worth it.

“High score!” she cheers. Her empty hand is raised in the air the same way 76 remembers from when she shot with Jesse.

“Just don’t go for headshots all the time, and you’ll be fine,” 76 says. He doesn’t stop himself from shaking his head. Jesse chuckles.

“She givin’ you a run for yer money?”

“Hardly.”

Hana makes a noise of protest.

“Hardly,” 76 repeats, but then he gives in a little. Not because he wants her to grin, or anything. “But she might. Some day.”

* * *

When Hanzo pops up, it is at the worst possible time. His entrance happens in the middle of a fight and 76 barely catches the flash of blue that signals his arrival.

“Something you want to tell us?” 76 hisses over the comm. He knows Genji is listening.

Genji’s reply is rapid. “I was not aware. He never did have the best timing—”

That is an understatement. That—

—and the fact that Hanzo is obviously trained on Hana’s mech. _What the fuck_ , 76 almost says, but Hanzo’s arrow is faster. It whirls toward Hana’s mech and then 76’s heart jumps into his throat to choke him. She ejects from the mech in a blur and her hair flies behind her as she pulls herself up to the balcony in front of her.

Right before Hanzo. 76 can see from a distance—he feels time slow, like everything is poured into a vat of syrup—and Hanzo’s bow is drawn. His arrow is at Hana’s neck and she—

—she is going to die on a technicality and miscommunication, and 76 _cannot_ allow that that to happen, he can’t—

—but Genji beats him to it, flying over a barrage of gunfire in a flash of green.

“ _Anija!_ ”

The scream would probably stop the entire team in their tracks, if they weren’t all professionals. As it is, 76 positions himself to see everything. He sees Hanzo twitch and then Genji throws his arm up to move Hanzo’s bow. Even 76 knows this is not typical. You do not touch a soldier’s weapon, brother or no.

“Genji—”

“Do not touch her,” Genji says. There is no warning; no hate in his voice. He speaks evenly, as if Hana were not about to be killed—but 76 catches the shake in Genji’s hand. The way his shuriken peek out from their hiding places.

Was he ready to hit his brother? Or was he hoping he could deflect the arrow that was an inch from Hana’s throat?

This is how it ends—except it doesn’t. It won’t, if 76 has anything to say about it.

* * *

Hana treads the hallways lightly. The debrief took a while and most of the team are asleep. Genji wanted to talk, but76 sent him with Angela because he needed attention more than Hana needed an apology. He hopes.

Genji’s not the one that pulled a bow on her, anyway.

“May I speak—”

Whoever talks only gets two seconds before Hana turns on her heel and reaches for a pistol that isn’t there. She’s about to slide into a doorway when she realizes it’s him.

Hanzo.

76 simmers a little at the intrusion. Hanzo has the grace to look suitably embarrassed. “I apologize. I did not mean to startle you. It was my mistake.”

It was, 76 thinks. They are fresh from a mission. A mission during which Hanzo nearly killed Hana.

 “You need something?” 76 asks. It seems as though Hanzo notices him for the first time, eyes sliding to his face. “Winston can get you settled.”

“No. I do not—I wished to apologize,” Hanzo says. There’s a half-smirk on his face, ironic. He looks at Hana. “I took you for a threat. It was…ill-advised. Lacking proof.”

“That seems to be a high compliment,” Hana says. “And you were right to determine me a threat.”

She says it simply, and it is true, but that doesn’t mean 76 has to like it.

Hanzo looks curious. Not the response he expected, 76 assumes. For a moment, 76 considers the man. Hanzo is Genji’s brother, and there are small similarities he finds, despite the fact that Genji’s face is the only thing visible of his past self.

They have the same posture, 76 notices. Or at least, they share the same posture—until Genji plays a video game and sprawls, instead of schooling his body into a straight line.

“Talk later,” 76 finally says. He doesn’t want to put himself in this position—possibly scare off an ally—but he has no patience for the situation. Not when Hana is tired and reacted so quickly to Hanzo’s appearance.

Hanzo pauses. He is not done. He isn’t, but he gives a small nod and murmurs something in Korean to Hana. 76 doesn’t appreciate the exclusion, but he keeps quiet until Hanzo is gone.

“You don’t have to force yourself,” 76 says.

“What are you talking about?”

76 chews on his words before he finally speaks. “What he did was not right. You don’t have to force yourself to be comfortable with him, or with the situation.”

It’s one of those moments that Hana looks like the soldier her file says she is. The familiar shift is one that 76 never enjoys seeing. It’s a tired set to her eyes and the smoothing of her brow in a way that says she’s long since learned an important lesson—even if she hasn’t come to terms with it, yet.

“I am not. And he may have done the wrong thing, but it was the right reason. To him.”

76 isn’t sure he appreciates that thought, but he keeps his mouth shut and escorts Hana the rest of the way to her room. She gives him a tired farewell and he pauses again by her door. “If you need anything—”

“You’re right next door,” she finishes, with a small smile.

It’s good to see, even if he knows she is far from okay.

* * *

76 turns a corner into the practice room and suddenly, his senses kick into overdrive. Time warps.

He sees two things: Hanzo, his bow drawn. Hana, precariously balanced on a half-wall that rises from where it was hidden in the ground.

It takes about two seconds for 76 to skid up to Hanzo, and it’s one second too late for is taste. Still, the arrow flies off course just a little and Hana makes a startled noise as it flies past her ear. Some of her brown hair flutters in the air.

“Explain,” 76 growls. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to explain that Hanzo has less than a minute.

“Whoa, partner—”

76 holds a finger up at Jesse. The cowboy’s presence just irritates him further. 76 didn’t even notice him. He was too busy being hyper-focused on the way Hanzo was about to kill Hana.

Again.

“She requested that assist her,” Hanzo says evenly. He obviously doesn’t appreciate the gun aimed at his face. 76 doesn’t care.

Bullshit, 76 doesn’t say—but then he thinks about Hana and knows immediately that it’s true. Of course, she would ask him. As if there were nothing wrong with having a man who had nearly killed her aim at her, again.

“What is this?” Jesus, 76 thinks, was the whole damn base in the training arena? Genji slides into the room cautiously, but his posture is tense.

“You shouldn’t use live ammunition—including arrows—in training,” 76 says evenly. He tucks his gun away very slowly. Very, very, slowly.

Genji’s head flicks between Hanzo, 76, and then—

—then, he looks toward the far end of the room and 76 remembers Hana is still there. Shit.

She is still frozen on the wall; one leg hangs down and the other is bent awkwardly. One of her hands hovers in the air by her left ear.

“Brother,” Genji says softly. There might be sadness in his voice, which is not appropriate. Hanzo didn’t hurt himself; he almost hurt Hana. Again. “This is not—”

“Whoops!”

76 turns sharply to see Hana slip off the wall. She’ll land fine—he’s seen the way she handles herself on the field—but then there’s a blur of movement and Hanzo is across the room.

Hanzo catches her before she falls and her arm lands around his shoulders like this has happened before. 76 suspects it has, and that doesn’t make him feel any better.

But then Hanzo starts to tip her to set her down and Hana clings tightly to his shoulders. She leans back and his eyes narrow. “You are perfectly capable of standing.”

“Oh no! Gravity! It is—increasing! I cannot stand!” Hana cries dramatically. 76 stares.

He’s pretty sure Genji and Jesse are staring, too. From the way a cigar rolls by 76’s feet, he thinks Jesse’s mouth is hanging open.

“Do you wish for me to drop you?” Hanzo asks. His tone is formal and businesslike, but even 76 can see the flicker of warmth in the man’s brown eyes. The way the corner of his mouth turns up a little, like he can’t completely squash a smile.

“You would never,” Hana says, smug.

Hanzo rolls his eyes. Rolls—

—76 considers that he walked into an alternate universe, and not a practice room.

Genji coughs. “Brother,” he says, careful. “Why would you do something so dangerous?”

“She requested my assistance,” Hanzo repeats. Then, he adds, “There was a proximity deflector. It would not have hit her.”

Hana swings her legs from where she still rests in Hanzo’s arms. “Hey! Since we are all here, maybe you would not mind telling me why none of you have responded to my game night request?”

Jesse winces a little. There’s a shuffle of feet and 76 wonders if Hana has been taking lessons from Mercy. God help them, if she has.

“I did,” Genji says politely. Hanzo glares at his brother for the clear saving of his own ass. Genji would probably look smug, 76 suspects, under the shield on his face.

“Well, you had all better be there!” Hana exclaims. “It will be the biggest stream yet!”

There are final murmured promises and 76 feels his heart finally start to slow. He hears the tail end of Hana reminding Hanzo about some sort of bet or promise and wonders if it involves shooting some other dangerous projectiles at her.

As it turns out, the promise consists of Hanzo wearing a pink ribbon in his hair during the tournament.

He doesn’t seem to be as bothered by it as his grumbled words and disgusted expression suggest.

* * *

Hana would be pretty foolish not to see the way 76 keeps a constant eye on her.

He’s kind of like a father, if fathers typically toted guns and muttered about trying ‘not to get killed out there’.

Currently, Hana would take even his gruff caution over the gunfire that rattles nearby and the flecks of plaster that fly from the wall far across from her.

The covered little space she is in has white walls. Outside, it is blue and breezy. The coastal view would remind her of home, if she allowed it. She cannot. She must concentrate, and think as D.Va. Even if she is without her MEKA.

There is a break in the fire and she rolls further to the right, past the doorway where the enemy turret shot through. She has only moments to find cover before the gunfire starts up again. This time, gun in hand, she peers around the corner to her right and finds the turret still trained on the doorway. D.Va hefts her pistol and times the rounds.

When there is another break, she whips out and fires as many rounds as she can. It is difficult while moving, but Jesse and 76 taught her well. She lands her hits as she goes to the next little house for cover.

The turret adjusts to fire in the doorway she just barely made it through, but it doesn’t matter. D.Va stumbles right over 76’s leg.

She lands with a yelp and rolls into the corner of the house.

76’s brow shifts when he sees her. If he weren’t wearing the visor, she suspects he would have visibly narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”

He growls when he talks. D.Va is not sure how his voice still works.

“Finding cover. I needed room to—”

Gunfire bursts through the back door and 76 immediately shoves her head down. D.Va hears a grunt and the nearby hiss of a bullet and then the noise stops. She gingerly lifts her head to see 76 still in place, his free hand and his gun trained on the far wall.

There is a tear in the arm of his jacket.

“Oh, no,” D.Va says. His hideous jacket. He must love it, to wear it so much, even when it’s a little garish.

“We need to move,” 76 says. As if he didn’t feel the bullet graze him. “Can you call it here?”

“Too small.”

“I’ll cover you. We’ll pass to the next building.”

They make a break and D.Va slides into the next building like a batter to home base. She wastes no time in calling her MEKA and then she throws herself in to cover 76 as he pushes forward. The rest of the team is behind the enemy forces and if they close their trap, they can end this.

The turret that caused her so much trouble turns and she does not remember it being so fast. It doesn’t matter, though, because it turns toward her. Toward 76.

When she screams, it is in Korean. She rarely speaks it during missions, since English is the standard for the team—but this is instinct. Later, she recognizes that the change in language doesn’t matter. Even if no one understood the word over the comm, they got the message.

“ _Dad!_ ”

Her feet move on their own, too fast for the hulk she pilots, and her rockets fire before she realizes she pulled the trigger. She really does have fast reflexes, she thinks distantly. Maybe it’s paranoia from her time in the military. Maybe it’s gaming. Maybe a little of both.

It is, however, entirely fueled by her terror at the way 76 is exposed. D.Va takes that terror and turns it into force and then, the turret is obliterated in a burst of metal and rockets.

When the smoke clears, the field is clear and the comms are dull with the split-second, post-firefight silence.

“Sharp shootin’, Hana,” Jesse says. He is out of breath where he leans on a pillar, but his eyes still scan the battlefield. Likely for what is the fifth time.

“Thanks.”

Her voice is not shaky. It is not, but she feels the shake in her soul. D.Va is still on the sidelines, ready, but now—now, Hana looks down to check on 76. To ensure that he is whole.

76 grunts and hefts his gun over his shoulder. “It was good, kid. Time to go.”

“Covering retreat,” D.Va says.

She may not be all fine, but she is good, because everyone is safe. Because 76 is whole and Jesse pats her MEKA’s leg absentmindedly as they go back to their extraction point. Because Genji perches on her shoulder, one leg bent and shuriken ready at his knuckles. Because Mercy keeps an eye on the group as they go, even if she is at the center of their formation.

Life as part of Overwatch isn’t perfect. There are times where she has faced the possibility of death and injury. She has less time to stream and game, and there are arguments among some of the older members. Wounds that never heal.

But there, surrounded by people that care and the knowledge that they would do anything to help her the way she would for them, Hana feels at home.

More at home than she has ever felt before.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a plan and then I started to write, so
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this bit! I scoured AO3 for this kind of Dad76&Hana stuff and didn't find as much as I thought I would. Like, don't get me wrong—I love me a good smut or ship fic, but sometimes I just kind of want to feel soft about our favorite dad and D.Va??
> 
> Also, you can pry 'D.Va is a persona that helps Hana cope' from my cold, dead, hands


End file.
